


Take Anything

by juniper_and_lamplight



Series: Close Reading [1]
Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Anxiety, Books, Character Study, Established Relationship, F/F, Gen, Intimacy, Omnivorous reading, POV Character of Color, Reading, Reading as self-care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-09-28 22:01:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20433146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juniper_and_lamplight/pseuds/juniper_and_lamplight
Summary: “For me, reading is the only time when I can...it makes things quieter.”





	Take Anything

_ **Now** _

This can’t be the way she dies.

After all the violence she’s seen, all the mortal peril she’s survived, Farah is _not _going to be taken out by a sweaty sports bra.

She finally wrestles herself out of the bra’s choke hold around her neck and underarms, and she flings the damn thing into the clothes hamper with extreme prejudice. (Only zip-front sports bras from here on out, she promises herself.) Her skin is uncomfortably clammy now that she’s finished her punishing post-work run, and it only makes her feel more rattled and edgy, her mind still in hyperdrive after this an absolute shitstorm of a day. 

She peels off the rest of her workout clothes, placing her ankle sheath and knife carefully in her weapons drawer and tossing everything else into a sodden pile on top of the sports bra. She takes the fastest possible rinse-off shower, keeping her hair out of the spray (today is supposed to be wash day, but she just doesn’t have the patience right now), and then towels off, throwing on her comfiest leggings and baggiest sweatshirt before collapsing, _finally_, onto her bed. 

Five minutes. She’ll allow herself five minutes to just be still, and then she’ll get up and get on with things. And after everything is done, _then_...she turns her head to look at the item that sits on her nightstand, waiting.

* * *

_ **Then** _

“You mean...I can take anything?" Farah bit her lip and looked around the elementary school library, widening her eyes to take it all in. 

The librarian assured her that she could check out any books she wanted, as long as she brought them back on time. (Farah was _great _at doing things on time.) She made a beeline for the shelf where a book about hieroglyphics sat, its cover facing out. She wanted to learn _everything _about Ancient Egypt—the myths and mummies and pyramids and pharaohs (especially Hatsheptsut, who was obviously the best). 

In the years that followed, she returned to the library time and time again, to learn about animals and fairy tales and origami and real-life heroes and villains. She learned the names of more than fifty different dinosaurs, though she was disappointed to discover that dragons weren’t a kind of dinosaur; but then she went on to learn everything she could about dragons, even if it was all made up. 

One day, she found a meticulously detailed picture book about building a cathedral, and she spent the next several months reading about cathedrals and castles, suits of armor and giant trebuchets. (She wondered if her dad would let her build a trebuchet in the backyard, but couldn’t bring herself to actually ask him.) She learned to recognize DK Eyewitness books by their spines alone.

Grown-ups always praised her for her love of reading, but they didn’t seem to understand why it mattered to her. It wasn’t just about being smart, although she definitely cared about that, too. No, the thing about reading—the astounding, miraculous thing about reading—was that it gave her room to just _be_. Outside of school, there were no stakes in reading; no responsibilities, no one to disappoint. She could learn whatever she wanted, even if she didn't need it for class or for training. She could be anyone, do anything, without shame or stress or obligation. It was the closest she got to feeling free.

As she got older, her childhood fixations morphed into unquenchable genre curiosity. She knew she couldn’t read everything, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t _try_. She loved the world-building in fantasy and science fiction, loved the minutiae in historical fiction. She loved puzzling out mysteries and thrillers, taking pride every time she cracked a case before the characters did. And after she heard Eddie talking shit about his girlfriend’s romance novels, Farah started reading them out of spite. It took her a few tries to find ones she genuinely enjoyed (witty, headstrong heroines were a must, while alpha-male heroes resulted in automatic disqualification), but once she did, she was surprised by how much comfort she found in their unabashed tropes and guaranteed happily-ever-afters. (Romance novels also helped her understand that she was decidedly not heterosexual, as well as not interested in traditional dating, two pieces of knowledge that felt safer to acheive through books than through messy human interaction.) Spite-reading served her well again when it came to supplementing her high school literature curriculum: every time a teacher assigned a so-called classic by a basic white man, she read a classic by a black woman. By the time she aced AP Lit, she’d also gotten to know Zora Neale Hurston, Octavia Butler, Audre Lorde, Lorraine Hansberry, Jewelle Gomez, and many, _many _more. 

Once, she even went so far as to sample some of her dad’s military fiction, an experiment she didn’t repeat until college, when she realized what her dad’s Patrick O’Brian books lacked: _dragons_. After she discovered the Temeraire series, with its rich historical details and thrilling dragon-mounted combat, her childhood obsession reignited and she devoured the books in huge gulps, turning page after page in the weak light of her dorm desk lamp.

It was also in her college dorm that she realized how much she valued privacy while reading. She could study well enough in public, but pleasure reading was, perforce, a solitary activity: if she tried it in the presence of others, she’d get too absorbed and let her guard down, or she’d get too stressed out by the knowledge that she was being observed, or she’d get just plain mad about being distracted. (It didn’t help that her college roommate was the kind of monster who’d interrupt a reading person solely to ask “Whatcha reading?”) As she shifted into adulthood, into Army life and private security work, she learned to jealously guard her private reading time. These stories, these pockets of respite from her relentless thoughts and excruciatingly regimented life, were simply too precious to share.

* * *

_ **Now** _

When her five minutes are up, Farah retrieves her water bottle and her laptop, so she can hydrate while she emails an invoice to the clients. She hopes they’ll be so pleased with the outcome—after all, the agency _did_ crack the case—that they won’t inquire about the methods used. (Farah had been dubious, initially, about including the phrase “arguable efficiency” on their plaque, but it’s proved to be a useful caveat when dealing with disgruntled clients.) Next is a quick note to the agency’s insurance company (containing a few pertinent details Farah thinks they should know in light of the forthcoming liability claims), followed by an even quicker upload of the notes she took at the emergency room, so that Dirk and Todd can both easily access the notes on their phones. (They _won’t_, but she needs to know that they _can_.)

Emails done, she snaps her laptop closed and tackles phase two: calls. Dirk’s voice over the phone sounds entirely too chipper for someone who’d been smashed into the mirror-backed bar of a beachfront restaurant only a few hours ago. Yes, he assures her, the bleeding _has_ stopped. Yes, the injuries really do seem to be minor, and limited to the left side of his body, which is honestly a refreshing change of pace. No, he isn’t concussed, the doctor _assured_ him that he is _definitely_ _not _concussed, _why _is she always going on about concussions? Yes, Todd is fine, just sleeping off the after-effects of his attack. And yes, they still smell of lobster bisque and piña colada, respectively, despite thorough washings-up. (Dirk volunteers this final bit of information without her asking.) 

After Dirk’s litany of reassurances, there comes an awkward pause, a silence in which both Farah and Dirk can practically _hear_ one another suppressing the instinct to blame themselves, yet again, for the near-catastrophe they’ve just survived. Dirk breaks first, as he always does. 

“Thanks for looking out for us, Farah, “ he says, in a much less peevish tone than he’d been using. “I hope you know that...you are an _invaluable_ part of this team.” 

Farah is grateful that Dirk knows when she’s met her quota of Big Emotions for one day. Not to mention grateful that he can’t see the wobbly expression on her face. “I’m just relieved that you’re both okay.” 

“I’m relieved that we _all _are.” He sounds as exhausted as she feels. After she makes him promise to spend tomorrow resting, they say their goodbyes and hang up. 

She takes a few long, slow breaths, and then opens a video call to Tina.

As soon as Tina answers, she launches full-tilt into a play-by-play of the drunk and disorderly arrest she’d made earlier that evening. “He just _would not stop_ talking trash, and you know I hate to get, like, _penal _on people, and so I was all ‘Randy, my dude, you _know_ me, you know I mean it when I say you GOTTA chill out,” and then he was all ‘Fuck you Tevetino, twelve-step is for quitters,’ and for realsies? He’s lucky I was I on duty because otherwise I mighta just _bam!_—” the image on Farah’s phone wobbles as if Tina’s made a sudden movement “—kicked him in the nads. I’m….not allowed to do that, right?” She looks to Farah for confirmation. Farah nods, and Tina nods back ruefully. “Poop, that’s what I thought. Anyhoo, arrested him, he’s in a cell now, and he fiiiinally shut up. How was _your _day?” 

Farah tries to give a concise account of the whole sorry tale: how Dirk’s hunch had led them to a black market seafood ring operating from a waterfront restaurant; how they’d planned their sting so carefully. The unforgettable image of Todd in his waiter’s disguise, screaming on the floor in a puddle of spilled food as a pararibulitis attack overwhelmed him; Farah rushing to help him just as the black marketeers clocked Dirk and threw him bodily into the bar he’d been fake-tending. How Farah had only just managed to force medication into Todd’s mouth and knock out the largest of Dirk’s assailants when the police arrived, arresting enough of the black marketeers to appease the client (hopefully). Then there’d been the trip to the emergency room, accompanied by a round robin of reverse recrimination in which all three of them tried to take the blame for the debacle; and finally Farah’s long, sweaty run, which had utterly failed to exorcise her guilt over her own failure to protect her friends. 

Shit, she said that last part out loud, didn’t she?

The look on Tina’s face indicates that she did. “You think I’d be used to your stories by now,” says Tina, shaking her head slowly. “Okay, so you trashed the bad guys and saved everyone's bacon—"

"That’s not what I—"

"You didn't have to say it, I've _met_ you. You kicked ass and took names, probably _literally_, and Todd and Dirk are okay. But what about you?”

“What _about _me?”

“Wellll, you don't look injured, but I can almost _see_ those brain hamsters of yours just scritch-scratching away.”

“I'm _fine_,” Farah assures her, even though she knows exactly what Tina means. The metaphorical hamsters run frantically on their wheels, and each wheel is a question she’s afraid to answer: _Do you really think you're powerful enough to stop every potential tragedy? What if you’d moved just a little bit slower? Both Dirk and Todd could've _died_ today because you read the situation wrong—how many close calls until the odds catch up with you? _

“Farah!” Tina claps loudly, startling Farah back to attention. “Are we gonna do this again? C’mon, what are you allowed to have?”

"...feelings."

“And you're having some now?”

"Yes, of course I am, because running didn't help!” She sounds petulant and accusatory, and immediately feels ashamed, but Tina’s face on the phone screen is pure concern, without a trace of pity.

“Yeah, _fuck _running! I always hated it anyway!” Farah doesn’t smile at this, though she can feel the potential for a smile lurking somewhere nearby. “Shit, babe, you know I wish I could hop a plane and keep you company tonight. But I’m stuck here with smelly Randy.” There’s a faint noise of protest from offscreen. “Oh, shut your pie hole, Randy!” Tina hollers. The smile creeps closer, dragging up one corner of Farah’s mouth.

“Tina, you can’t come here and coddle me _every_ time I get stressed or a case goes sideways. Sideways is kind of an agency specialty.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But I'd _like_ to.” Tina gives her a look that can only be described as _besotted_, and Farah lets herself absorb it, just for a moment. She’d called Tina out of habit, because she calls Tina every night; she hadn't even realized she was looking for comfort until she found it. She still hasn’t fully acclimated to this thing, to having someone close enough to see what she needs even when she herself can't articulate it.

“Welp, since I can’t be there, what are you gonna do to wind down?” Tina asks, leaning back in her chair. “A little tai chi? Make more of that funky shortbread? Watch every single castle documentary on Netflix?” 

“I’ve seen all of the castle documentaries already, and lemon rosemary _isn’t_ funky,” Farah replies. “But as it happens, I’ve got a date.”

Tina smiles fondly. “Oooh, tell me about it.”

“Well,” Farah raises her eyebrows suggestively. “It’s two Egyptian guys…”

“Sounds hot.”

“...and they work for…” She peers at the blurb on the tantalizing, brand-new paperback on her nightstand. “...the Ministry of Alchemy, Enchantments and Supernatural Entities.”

“Daaaaang. Though I would’ve thought you’d had enough enchantments to last you a minute.” 

Farah shrugs. “It’s different when it’s fictional.”

“Oh!” Tina sits back up in her chair. “Speaking of fictional, Hobbs wants to me to tell you that he picked up, um, a mash?”

“A…what?”

“Ah, man, I already forgot the...something about a buddy read?”

“Ohhhh.” Now it’s Farah’s turn to smile fondly. “Inspector Gamache. Tell Sherlock to text me when he starts reading.”

“Y’know, I think it’s my duty, here, to remind you that you and Hobbs are _the_ most unbelievable nerds.”

Farah’s smile becomes a grin. “You _love _us.”

Tina grins back. “Yeah, I do. I—hold up.” She turns her head and yells, “Randy! Are you gonna puke? You _better_ not puke in there!” There’s a distant groaning in the background, and Tina yells even louder. “What did I JUST say, Randy? Don’t even—” The groaning to turns to retching, and the tiny Tina on Farah’s phone screen grows larger as she leans closer. “Gottagobabeloveyoubyeeee!” Even as she runs, Tina manages to kiss her fingertip before touching it to the phone, ending the call. 

After a quick text (“Good luck. x”), Farah puts down her phone and finally, _finally_ picks up her book.

* * *

_ **Then** _

The snowfall had been surprisingly fast and heavy, and as they stood in the front hallway of Farah’s place, shaking the snow off their coats and boots, Tina glanced back outside and frowned. “Yeeeah, I do _not _ like the look of this snow. Is it cool if I crash here one more night, and drive back in the morning?”

Farah felt her heart sink even as it started beating faster. Though the idea of an extra night with Tina was _definitely _appealing, she’d already mentally earmarked this night for Reading Alone Time. But she could roll with the change of plans, because plans changed all the time, didn’t they? Competent adult people just rolled with it. And she was nothing if not competent. 

“Of course you can stay,” she assured Tina. And then, against her will, her mouth kept making words. “But—you know how sometimes you have a plan for what you’re going to do with your night, and because you’ve been thinking about it all day the plan starts to feel...important?”

“Yeah, totally! Though my plans usually involved bad decisions about controlled substances. But hey,” Tina held up her hands, “if you have something you need to do tonight, don’t worry about me. I won’t get in the way.” 

Farah sighed, not sure why she felt so reluctant to explain this. “You’re not in the way. And it’s not _plans_, exactly. It’s, um, it’s just that I downloaded a new book this morning?”

Tina’s eyes went squinty. “You’re saying that you want to spend the night _reading_?”

“No! Yes. Maybe? Not the whole night. But I know that’s—I don’t want you to feel like—” 

“I’m kiiiind of getting a vibe like you need some space? I can crash with the guys, just—”

“No!” Now that she’d had a minute to get used to the idea, Farah really did want Tina to say, which was, well. A bit unexpected, honestly, and more than a bit unprecedented. She placed a hand on Tina’s arm. “I _want _you to stay. But I also _need _you to understand.”

“Understand what?”

How to say it without sounding like a bougie platitude? “This is....for me, reading is the only time when I can...it makes things quieter.” She pressed a hand to her head, as if to show Tina where the quiet was needed most.

Tina nodded, slowly. “You mean it settles down your brain hamsters?”

Farah’s heart lifted a bit. “If that means what I think it means, then yes? But I don’t usually let people see me doing the...settling. So it’s not that I don’t _want _to spend time with you, or won’t change my plans for you. It’s just that I _need _to spend time doing my own thing for awhile, or I won’t be fit to spend time with you. Or anyone else.”

“And your own thing is...reading?”

"Reading a brand-new romance in my favorite series, yes.”

Tina’s eyebrows gave a little bounce, and she nodded again. “Okay, okay, I get you. So maybe, if I do something quiet too, we can do the quiet thing together?”

Well, they could certainly _try_. “Yes. Sure. Together.”

They dried off and cozied up on Farah’s couch, Farah with her tablet and Tina with her phone. True to her word, Tina was quiet: she scrolled through her phone, got up to get her earbuds, watched several YouTube videos, got up again to get a bowl of popcorn, rebraided her own hair, sprawled on the floor for awhile, listened to ¾ of an “ambient synthwave” playlist, and eventually wound up back on the couch, scrolling through her phone again, all without saying a word. Her restlessness should have been irritating—if anyone else had done the same things, Farah would’ve wanted to toss them out into the snow. But lazy fidgeting was Tina’s default state, and as such, her activity felt like white noise, a backdrop rather than a disturbance. All in all, the quiet-together experience was remarkably unremarkable, and after three hours, Farah felt something like equilibrium settle over her. She bookmarked her page, powered down her tablet, and tugged on Tina’s sleeve until she scooched closer. “Hey,” she said, leaning in so that their noses almost touched. 

“Hey,” said Tina, the word brushing against Farah’s lips before tipping over into a barely-there, popcorn-salty kiss.

“I’m so glad you’re here. And glad that you didn’t break my heart, ghost me in a foreign city, and send me back to my job in an imaginary African nation.”

Tina blinked. “That’s a reeeeally super-specific thing to be glad about.” 

Farah laughed and kissed her again. This wasn't the time for a plot summary. 

* * *

_ **Now** _

Tucking the book under her arm, Farah heads to the kitchen. Talking with Dirk and Tina has upgraded her mental state to only-slightly-more-anxious-than-usual, but she could still use a drink.

Drinking at home is rare for her these days, especially when Tina’s around, so she takes a minute to survey the bottles in her pantry. Does she still have…? Yes, the bottle is still there, though it’s a bit dusty. The whiskey is stupidly expensive, a gift from Patrick when she’d accepted his job offer, and there’s just enough left for a generous pour. The ice tinkles softly as she raises her glass in a silent toast (_to absent friends_), and then snags a bag of gingersnaps from the shelf and heads to the couch. She’ll need to eat a proper dinner at some point, but that’s a problem for later.

The drink goes on a coaster as she curls up on the couch, the bag of cookies in the crook of her legs and the book propped on her lap. She’d gone to Elliot Bay specifically to buy the book a week ago, just before the case started, and it’s been tempting her from her nightstand ever since. She feels the absence of Tina next to her, misses her warmth and the way she yelps when Farah wiggles cold toes under her butt. But in a way, Tina’s absence makes her relish the solitude even more, because it’s no longer her only option. It’s something she can choose. Something that belongs to her.

Savoring the way the whiskey mellows the gingery burn of the cookie, she closes her eyes for the space of one breath. _In. Out._ Todd and Dirk are both safe now, she reminds herself, and they both believe in her. Hobbs is _voluntarily _doing a buddy read with her. And Tina loves her, no matter how unlovable she feels. One more breath. _In. Out. _

She opens her eyes, opens the book, and loses herself in 1912 Cairo, surrounded by djinn and automatons and a bizarre mystery that isn’t her job to solve.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Any kudos or comments will be cherished, and feel free to find me on Tumblr to yell about DGHDA and the reading habits of fictional people.
> 
> Elliot Bay is one of many independent bookstores in Seattle, because Farah supports her local indies and wouldn’t hesitate to punch Jeff Bezos in the throat.
> 
> Works and authors referenced:  
-_Cathedral_, David Macaulay  
-DK Eyewitness series, various  
-Zora Neale Hurston, Octavia Butler, Audre Lorde, Lorraine Hansberry, Jewelle Gomez (Did I purposely include mostly queer women in teenage Farah’s selections? You bet I did.)  
-Aubrey-Maturin series, Patrick O’Brian  
-Temeraire series, Naomi Novik  
-Chief Inspector Gamache mysteries, Louise Penny (these are stellar on audio)  
-_Once Ghosted, Twice Shy_, Alyssa Cole (the romance Farah reads on the couch with Tina; it’s an f/f novella from an excellent series)  
-_The Haunting of Tram Car 015_, P. Djèlí Clark (Farah’s “date” book)


End file.
